Life of a certain harlot

Life of a certain Harlot ( i don't remember who wrote this anymore)

My family was poor. I had a dad, mum, and 3 brothers.

Days where we couldn’t even put food on the table. From as long as I can remember, my parents had been working from morning to night. I don’t even think that the conversations they held would be anything other than what was necessary due to how busy they were everyday.

It may have been because of such a lifestyle that I naturally became a prostitute. It was when I turned 10. Even when I had been sold because of a debt my parents had, my brothers were sending me off as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I even remember the thought I had when I was taken to the run-down carriage hidden within the woods was something like, ‘I wonder if I’ll be able to have food everyday?’.


When I was sold, I had a friend who was crying for me. It was tough separating from that friend, but it was tougher being unable to eat. Even if we were able to make some faint memories, the fact that we were poor was the worse thing of all.


By the time I had turned 14, I was already working as a prostitute. Doing the same thing over and over and over again, every single day in a small room. I had customers everyday.

It was lucky that I leaned towards the prettier side, and that I had regular customers. I was relieved that I could attract customers. With this, I would be able to reach my target and pay back the debt. Although it wasn’t my debt, paying it back was the reason I needed to live. I wasn’t affectionate enough to say that… it’s for the sake of my family, but there’s a debt I have to pay for giving birth to me and raising me for 10 years. I had somehow gotten used to lying down on a hard bed the whole day.


When I lost my virginity, and so I wouldn’t get pregnant, I had to drink this bitter medicine, which was tough, but the brothel where I was working at was a slightly higher-end establishment so the prostitutes weren’t treated terribly. We were able to wear pretty clothes, and we were each allowed to have our own rooms. Furthermore, I wouldn’t have to worry about food everyday.

The interest for the debt was reasonable as well, so as long as you worked hard, anyone could go back to “normal”.


If I had customers who were even older than my parents then they would sympathise with my situation and splurge on me, and younger guys would whisper that they love me, even if it was a lie.


I felt like I was finally sent a normal life, compared to those days where I would be so poor that I couldn’t even afford food.


“This sort of job… Why are you…. I’m going to get you out of here right now.”


The one who said that and bought me that day, was my childhood friend who I had only a brief remembrance of. I see, so my friend was a “man”... I didn’t even remember what gender he was. We were somehow able to get on a topic, and then did the deed. Even though he kept questioning my “job”, he made me do my job. ...Although I guess it’s natural since he did buy me.

With his big statute, he told me that he was working as a mercenary in this country. It seems that they were gathering people for the sake of a war. Hearing him say that, I do feel like there had been a few new faces among my customers. This is the time to work, was what I thought.


Customers who were a bit higher class than usual increased, and we prospered to the point of almost starting a fight. (fix) According to the rumours, it was our country that held the advantage in this war. Nevertheless, it doesn’t change that there had been casualties. The men came to the brothel in order to control their desires, or to get an experience before they died.

Even though they should’ve only been here to buy us and embrace us, it was as if they were seeing their lovers for the last time. There were even some guests that would start crying. I didn’t really understand what a mother really was, but I would hug the the customers who start crying as if I was their mother.


I wonder how many of these men will come back? If they do come back, would they come buy me again?



The war ended, and my friend had become a hero. Even if he did explain how he became a hero, I wouldn’t really understand. I have no knowledge on such subjects. A mere prostitute wouldn’t even be able to understand the concept of a hero. Having become a hero, he came to meet me to keep something called a promise.


“I came to help you. I can finally save you from doing this sort of job.”


I, who had finished paying off my debts during the war, had stayed at the brothel without purpose. I didn’t have to do the “this sort” of job he speaks of already.

...What does he mean by save? Is the fact that I have these sort of questions, a sign I’m uneducated?


He, who had become a hero, after buying and embracing me, couldn’t take me away from here right now because he had become a hero. As a hero, he told me he couldn’t marry me right away, but he could raise me, and then left.


The people who had bought me before the war, no of them showed their faces here.

I, who had been doing “this” job, left the very same day.


Even someone as uneducated as me knew that someone like me who was in “this” line of business, couldn’t be together with the Dear “Hero”.